


A Pretty Face

by mayamaia



Series: Scenes from the Departure Desk [1]
Category: Man From U.N.C.L.E.
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-08
Updated: 2012-04-08
Packaged: 2017-11-03 06:05:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 485
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/378125
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mayamaia/pseuds/mayamaia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On choosing one's dates</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Pretty Face

**Author's Note:**

> I think this could start an excellent series of vignettes. But so far I only have the one.

Illya Kuryakin studied the woman behind the airline desk with a strange expression on his face, while his partner complained good naturedly about flying coach again. Eventually noticing the man's distraction, Napoleon Solo trailed off in the middle of speculating about damage potentially done by the seat back to his kneecaps in the event of a crash and began to look confused himself. He was about to make a joke about the rarity of Illya being distracted by a pretty face, when the man preempted him with a comment of his own.

"We spend too much time around one another, my friend."

While Napoleon had rambled and the attendant had worked on their tickets, Illya had let his mind wander, and found himself making a swift assessment of the lady in front of them. And then he found himself amused, if slightly perturbed, by the nature of that assessment.

The attendant finished her paperwork and handed the tickets to Solo before he could answer. "Is that because you're picking up my good habits at last, Illya? It's about time you shared the burden of appreciating the ladies' efforts." When the blonde stopped walking to give him an incredulous look, Napoleon grinned. and continued, "It's tough work, and every man should do his part."

The Russian shook his head and resumed walking. "It may be something like that, but somewhat subtler. Do you know, I'm not sure I even had a type before working with you?" The Russian gave his partner a crooked smile. "It used to be feasible to just wait and get to know a girl before deciding whether or not to pursue her."

"Hey, in this job it doesn't pay to dawdle about anything, romance included."

"That may apply to innocents and counter agents, but not to the translators, secretaries and stewardesses we see on a regular basis. No, I've learned to decide whether I want to try before you have an opportunity to decide the matter for me."

"And so you've discovered you have a type."

"Something like that. Actually, I find that the women we encounter fall into three categories. For instance, the girl back there was _your_ type."

"How would you know that? And why would that matter if you're determining who _you'd_ like to sink your claws into, Pussycat?" The nickname earned him only a brief irritated flash of blue eyes.

"Well the other two types are 'uninteresting' or 'quite pretty and too smart to put up with Napoleon'."

"Oh, that's sweet of you to... hey wait. You're not actually taking my scraps, are you?"

"No." The Russian grinned, showing most of his teeth. "No, I am not."

Napoleon said nothing and looked straight ahead as they entered the boarding area, refusing to pander to his partner's smug delight. Next time the innocent was clearly intelligent, he determined, Illya would never get near her until it was too late.


End file.
